


Ever After II: Road Songs and Memory

by Teland



Series: Ever After [2]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dystopia, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Road Trips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1998-11-04
Updated: 1998-11-04
Packaged: 2020-12-07 10:09:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20974157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teland/pseuds/Teland
Summary: On the road with Walter and Alex.





	Ever After II: Road Songs and Memory

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Rye and Alicia for beta!

******  
How'd you get so desperate?  
How'd you stay alive?  
******

//Brush of lips along the back of his neck and Alex was   
confused for a moment, unsure whether to press back or lean   
forward, open more of himself to the gentle pressure.

//"Alex..."

//The whisper decided it, and he was falling to the   
mattress, Mulder's weight both warmth and desire along his   
back. The tangled sheets were a tease of rough cotton on   
his chest. He looked down at himself, not at all surprised   
to be nude, though it was disturbing to be unable to make   
out his surroundings beyond the boundaries of the bed.

//Mulder began to move his lips down Alex's spine and   
thought was lost. This was so wrong, there had never been   
time to make love to each other like this--

//"God, I missed you so much..."

//-- but they would make the time, and Mulder would chase   
his shadows away. A hand caught his own, twined and   
squeezed. Mulder had missed him, too.

//A breath and he was on his back and Mulder never stopped  
moving, hands roaming his chest, flowing over the scars   
without a break. Gentle on his ribs for no reason Alex   
could fathom, rough with desire on his nipples.

//"Don't stop."

//Mulder smiled, and the scene began to fade. Alex tried to   
hold on, desperate with the knowledge that would never   
leave him be, even at the best moments.//

But, as is the way of such things, the struggle only made   
him wake faster.

Warm not-quite glass against his forehead, a crick in his   
neck, and the thrum of an empty night road beneath the   
wheels of the car, low and hypnotic.

A glance at the clock revealed that he still had another   
twenty minutes before the scheduled pullover. Alex didn't   
wish to try to sleep anymore. At first, they'd both played   
a little loose with these things, but after a tired stumble   
had almost lost Walter to the Others...

It had been a shock for both of them to discover a desire   
for life, so unmistakable in the sharp jab of terror at   
that instant.

They kept a rigid schedule these days, only deviating when   
the road was suspiciously full. Or when they got that   
feeling.

//Alexei, I will teach you to plan. I will teach you to   
know every escape before you ever enter a room. But   
sometimes, there will be nothing but that rush...//

Peskow was right, and he'd only had to lose an arm to   
figure that out. Other men were not so lucky.

Walter had the news on, as usual, and the steady drone of   
lies and propaganda in the whiskey-smooth voice was lulling  
and pleasant.

No better reminder of why they were doing this than the   
soothing pap of the enemy.

"Did you sleep well?"

A nod he knew Walter would catch out of the corner of his   
eye -- it was good the older man had paid for the surgery   
before things started to go wrong... Strange and terrible   
world, and sometimes Alex wondered if he'd be fighting at   
all were it not for Mulder.

It would have been a good life. Home and safety, money,   
power...

Maybe even a new arm so he could fiddle with his balls   
while he jerked off thinking about things he'd never have.

No, he'd made his choice. He wasn't fighting for some noble   
ideal of freedom. There was no freedom for him, never had   
been. And most of his collars had been comfortable and   
warm. He'd changed sides because he'd *wanted*, and there'd   
been no other way to *have*.

The first time Mulder had stroked Alex's cheek, whispered   
his name for no other reason beyond hearing himself say it   
\-- Well, if that moment hadn't been worth this reality then   
he wasn't sure anything was. 

And the idea that it might not have been wasn't one he   
cared to consider. 

"Strike tonight?"

Walter frowned, grunted. "No."

"We'll be there in an hour."

"Research facilities always have more guards."

"Old man, who the fuck do you think you're speaking to?"

Walter turned from the road to stare at him for a long   
moment, disconcerting despite the highway's smooth,   
straight emptiness. He didn't speak until he'd turned back.

"If I was talking to *you*, I wouldn't have had to answer   
the question."

He was right, of course, but Alex didn't bother to say it.   
Walter knew he never had to repeat a lesson with him. 

"Alex--"

"Don't."

"You need--"

"To grieve, yes. But the last thing I need is a shrink with   
a gun habit."

A chuckle. "I would think it would make you more   
comfortable. More willing to... talk things out."

"If you put on any folk music I'll gnaw out your   
intestines."

"We could just sing."

Alex tried and failed to hold back a rather strangled   
laugh. "All right, I admit it."

"Admit what?"

"I'd pretty much kill to hear you rumble out 'Big Yellow   
Taxi.'"

"Yeah, but you'd also kill for a decent omelet. Doesn't   
tend to make a man feel flattered."

"Never underestimate the power of a good omelet." That last   
came out garbled by a late attempt to swallow his words,   
but it was really too late. He bit his tongue anyway. 

"Do tell, Alex."

"I..."

He heard Walter suck in a breath, but there were too many   
minefields within each of them to apologize for triggering   
them.

"Look, Alex, you don't have to--"

"Yeah, I think I do."

"All right, I'll play sympathetic CO to your sad little   
private."

"And later you can comfort me at length? With a paddle?"

"No, no. This time I'll just use my hands. Only sad little   
DIs get the paddle."

Alex let himself laugh, drift. These rhythms had grown   
older with them, and the voice Alex had come to think of as   
his personal censor had long gone silent. A year with   
Mulder, three without. Not even a chance to smell him   
again.

"I couldn't always stay the night."

The news had switched to a Muzak version of some pop song,   
and Alex turned it off, settled back in his seat, checked   
idly for tails in the rearview. 

"I cooked him breakfast one morning. He had a block of   
cheddar in his fridge so damned old that after cutting away   
the mold I was left with this little nugget." He held his   
fingers just slightly apart. "It was good, though."

"Some things are better a little spoiled."

Alex nodded, thought for a moment of jokes about aprons and   
biology experiments. Of sleep-warm skin behind his ear. Of   
the curiously slow restlessness of Mulder's hands over his   
body. A sense of being unable to get enough of infinity. 

"So I made him an omelet and he did his best to fuck me   
through the counter and the eggs were vulcanized rubber by   
the time we got to them and we made each other eat them   
anyway and I just fucking *can't*--"

"It's all right, it's all right--"

"No, it's not fucking all *right*, Walter. Why the fuck are   
we still alive?"

"God hates us."

"And we'll never get the chance to beat the shit out of   
Him, will we?"

"Greer left some brass knuckles behind. I plan to be buried   
with them, just in case."

Bark of laughter, edged crystal and bright in the car.   
"What did I do to get to be so fucking good at staying   
alive?"

Walter pulled over -- deserted camp grounds by the look of   
the worn signs. This road had no strategic value, but he   
pulled as far into the woods as he could just the same.

They sat for a while, listening to the tick of the cooling   
engine, loud in the silence. Alex felt the fear start to   
build, that itch between his shoulderblades that had rarely   
failed to warn him he was staying too long in one place.

"C'mon, *sir*. I asked you a question."

"Don't play that damned game, Alex. We both know each other  
a hell of a lot better than that."

A long pause to hear the ticking slow to a gradual stop.

"Let's just do the scout. This is Iowa--"

"Nebraska."

"Whatever. Corn, so I must be crow."

"Can't you be the damned cicada this time?"

Alex's mouth twitched for a heartbeat, and then he stepped   
out of the car. The muffled "asshole" was as much of a   
comfort as anything could be these days.

He took east and south, as usual, and saw nothing but the   
night. These places had always been empty and spare, and it  
was almost possible to believe that nothing at all had   
changed.

He counted off the second mile and squawked, listened for   
the toneless chirps he knew worked the hell out of the   
other man's throat. It wasn't even revenge, really. The   
more Walter growled and rumbled, the better he felt. 

Mulder had liked it when he growled, too. Mulder had   
claimed to like it all, and the way the other man would   
moan for him had made it impossible for Alex not to trust   
him. 

Southeast corner and Alex bent to feel the ground for the   
vibration of coming trouble. Nothing, and that was just   
fine. The checkpoints in Illinois had been ubiquitous, a   
never-ending series of stomach plummets and irritation with  
each other.

Somewhere between the underground base and the first   
opportunity to flash their faked papers, they had decided   
not to just start trouble at the first modified toll area -  
\- Walter called them Simper Stations -- they came to.

Alex told himself it would've been too easy to die that   
way. He wondered if Walter had made up some explanation   
about wanting to die with more than flunkies as his   
companions. 

In any case, they'd taken a lot more care with themselves   
than Alex had expected. Hence the scouting, the careful   
schedules, the fifth innocuous minivan in less than a   
month...

The habit of survival was etched deeper than anything else   
in their brains, it appeared. 

Maybe if they'd stolen that motorcycle instead they   
would've stayed closer to the plan. He entertained the   
image for a moment, Walter pressed close behind him, roar   
of some heavy engine thrumming between his legs. One sharp   
curve too many and they'd be nothing but broken dolls   
burning by the roadside.

First mile of the eastern walk, another sharp cry, another   
chitter, and Alex became aware of just how badly he wanted   
to sleep.

And fight.

And scream.

Not the first time the conflict of unsure feelings had   
beset him, but perhaps the first where there would be no   
room for him to let loose. He never thought he'd one day   
think fondly of the silo, and yet there was a sort of   
delirious freedom in the memory of it. No escape, no one   
but himself to think of. He doubted the alien was any more   
bothered by a former host's madness than by his resistance   
to takeover.

Here, any scream could mean things crawling out of the   
dark, and his death would have no resemblance to the   
oblivion he imagined.

//Are you really gone, Mulder? Would you hate what I've   
become? Would it be so much of a shock?//

And yet what had survival gained him, really? The front   
line of a pointless war? A companion more in love with some   
idealized end than himself? Another too present to be   
ignored, too dead to touch?

He thought of the first time, how he'd lied to make Mulder   
believe in a rookie too green to resist exploitation.

He'd long since taught his body to lie, but it hadn't been   
necessary that time. He'd made Mulder hungry for him, and  
was devoured whole. So vulnerable and needy -- Alex had   
known precisely how he must have looked. But the lie... The   
lie made him wonder if his body had simply grown so   
proficient at its art that he could be fooled into the   
belief of any pleasure.

Mulder was the only person to ever make him long to be just   
as weak and human as the rest of the world used to be.

One last mile, one last squawk, and Alex was moving to the   
center, trusting that Walter had already found some   
suitable hideaway for them both. It was Alex's turn to get   
the sleeping bags.

It itched not to sleep in the car, to have to rest away   
from the most practical means of escape, but it looked   
better not to.

//Appearances will keep you alive, Alexei. One day you will   
be old, like me, and no one will think it strange if you   
laugh at them for being so stupid as to underestimate   
you.//

Alex stopped in his tracks, reached for his gun and had   
begun to scan for targets before he realized the sick lurch   
he felt had more to do with his thoughts than the outside   
world.

//At least I still know how to protect myself.//

And that was precisely the problem. He couldn't remember   
what Mulder had been wearing the last time they'd seen each   
other, but the slide of the gun over his palm had been too   
fast and natural to notice. Alex wanted to grieve more   
powerfully than he could remember wanting anything--

//Oh, God I want you--

//I'm here, I'm here...//

\-- but there were some things that hadn't ever been   
allowed, and he could only hope this need would pass. Or   
that the fits and starts of memory would eventually be   
enough.

******

"You took longer than you should have."

"Thought I heard something."

Walter nodded, took his sleeping bag from Alex and began to   
shake it out. There would be no more questions on the   
matter. Real trouble would've meant another cry, or a   
longer absence.

They settled on the soft nylon and shared the food and tea,   
still warm from the thermos. 

"You want first watch tonight, Walter?"

It was Alex's night for first watch, but this was as close   
as he'd probably ever come to an admission of weakness   
short of having a bullet imbedded somewhere. He didn't know   
whether to laugh or swallow his gun. Walter nodded, looked   
up to search his eyes, and for a moment Alex let him see   
whatever he could.

"Still trying to figure out the meaning of life?"

"I'd settle for just the meaning of my own."

"You're not the type to brood, Alex."

"People change?" He couldn't keep the plea out of the jab   
and he wanted the silo again. "Fuck, Walter, this..."

"It's not so much you're alive than the fact you're *you*,   
isn't it?"

"The urge to break into song returns..."

"Good. You can sing me to sleep when it's your watch. Get   
some rest."

There were worse things than being with someone who knew   
you well enough to know when to shut up. Or someone who,   
when he was weary, could just look to himself for cues.   
Alex finished his tea and settled in to sleep.

******

//Alex picked up the receiver before the first ring   
registered. The so-called "psychic" phones were a waste of   
money and space save for one thing -- they delayed the ring   
long enough for a person to reach the phone without   
alerting any unwanted listeners. He waited.

//"Five one one, answer."

//"No, fucker, it's nine one one so get off the goddamned   
line."

//"I got clear. I'm --"

//"Don't tell me!"

//"Chipmunks and Asp--"

//"I said don't!"

//"Too late. I love you."

//And Mulder had hung up without waiting. Stupid to be   
angry that the man had chosen *one* protocol to follow   
among half a hundred, but there it was. Alex would find a   
way to get him back for it someday.//

******

"Up, Alex. It's been three hours."

"Erph. I'm awake."

//Can't the man even touch me long enough to shake me   
awake?//

Alex sat up and rubbed his eyes, tried to capture the exact   
sort of smile that had been in Mulder's voice that day. The   
failure was acceptable, he knew he'd known it in the dream.   
Chipmunks and Aspen wanna-bes. Not much of either by the  
time Alex had gotten there.

"Anything?"

"Bird call about half an hour ago. A real one."

He couldn't decide whether to be angry or not that Walter   
hadn't woken him for it.

"It only called once, so..."

"And you're sure it was a bird?"

"I saw it take off to the northwest."

Alex nodded, rummaged through the pack for an energy bar.

"Low fat? You gotta be fucking kidding me."

"Never, ever let a woman shop for supplies. I think there's   
still some butter left in the cooler."

"Three days since it's been safe to pick up new ice..."

"I sniffed it before I left the car. Not too bad."

Alex snickered. "Just the same, I think I'll let you have   
some first."

"What am I, your official food tester?"

"Yes. Less than fifteen twitches and we'll have   
buttered..." Alex squinted to pick out the words on the   
package, difficult without a fire, "... raspberry surprise   
power bars in the morning."

"I always did want my very own gourmand."

"Fairy tales... could come true..."

"Oh, Christ. Please stop." 

"Hey, I've been told I have a very *nice* voice."

"Nice isn't how I'd describe your voice, Alex."

Alex let the words hang there for a moment before   
responding. "Why aren't you asleep yet?"

"Your rendition of Armstrong may very well have traumatized   
me for life. I'm not tired."

"I thought we'd moved past these little butch games,   
Walter."

Walter looked at him, and Alex was grateful for the lack of   
starlight this night. In the overweening darkness Walter's   
eyes were black pools, comfortably foreign to these lonely   
stretches of deserted farmland. Just like him. 

"I said, I'm not tired."

"I see, so this is where we get into long discussion about   
how childish it is for you not to sleep, and you subtly   
toss in how childish it is for *me* not to talk about my...   
feelings."

Walter chuckled, crawled into his sleeping bag. "All right,  
*now* I'm tired."

"If it makes you feel any better, I probably would've   
fallen for that bit before... before Mulder."

"Somehow, I doubt that." A yawn from the almost-official   
four feet away.

"All right, all right, but I might've been able to   
*pretend* I fell for it without smarting off within   
fourteen seconds."

"You were under five, son."

"Son? Jesus, Walt, I know we're not having sex but was that   
really necessary?"

"I'm sorry, but.... Do you think I'm doing this for you,   
Alex? I've never been that altruistic."

"Impose a little distance, mirror that cold patch of   
ground... Old man, whoever you think you're doing this for   
is getting screwed."

"I still don't want to be your dead lover."

"You couldn't if you tried."

"You sure know how to sweet talk a man, Alex. How the hell   
did he resist you for so long?"

"He always was a damned masochist. And, besides, who says   
there was any talking involved? We didn't get that much   
time."

"No one ever does. Did you make the most of it?"

"Another Hallmark question--"

"There's a reason they wound up on those insipid little   
cards."

"All right, fine. Yes, we did. If we only had an hour we'd   
talk *while* we fucked. He told me about his sister, I told   
him about my uncle--"

"While you had sex?"

"Asshole, that was a *different* conversation."

"Sorry, just had some truly disturbing imagery hit. Go on."

//You tricked me into it *anyway*. You fucker.//

"He always seemed to know what I needed. I thought... I   
thought he'd be a more selfish lover. I asked him about it,   
he just asked me the same thing you did -- 'What makes you   
think I'm doing this for you?'"

//Parking garage of the Hoover building and he might as   
well have had a target painted on his back, but it just   
didn't matter with his back to the wall and Mulder on his   
knees...

//"Jesus, I just came to t-tell you -- Oh Christ Mulder   
please --"

//He'd taken him deep, never once said a word and worked   
him fast and hard, tongue whipping fast and clever, one   
hand playing with his balls, the other pressed gently   
against Alex's heaving abdomen. 

//Sharp click of heels forty -- thirty? -- yards away and   
the zing and flash of terror snapped his hips with mindless   
precision even as he bit his lip hard enough to draw blood.

//I love you I love you I love you and later he would hope   
he *had* said it aloud, because there had been no time for   
anything beyond --

//"Pick up. Merchandise already damaged. Conn. and   
f-f-fourth..."

//Mulder had licked him once, chin to cheekbone, nodded,   
and left. Alex was already back on the streets before he   
thought to check his pants.//

Alex shook himself out of it, looked to Walter. The other   
man was resting his head on his hands, gazing up at the   
cloudy indigo sky. "You cared about him, and he cared   
about you, and now..."

"And now what, Walter? He's dead, I'm not, and why the hell  
did I have to... go through that?"

"We don't get much of a choice about these things, I know.   
Maybe God gets a kick out of all the free porn."

"I produced all *kinds* of porn, dammit. You fucked me in   
every damn room of your house that weekend."

"Not true. We never got to the attic. I seem to recall   
someone bitching about being sore."

Alex laughed, didn't bother to choke back the sob this   
time. "Wouldn't it have been better if I'd never fallen   
for the   
contrary sonofabitch?"

"For who?"

"Me, Skinner. *Me*. No one else here but me and you, and   
you were never a part of... of us."

"Cope, Alex. Not everyone gets to be alive before they   
kick."

"Not everyone who gets to be alive has to die again."

Dark chuckle, gleam of teeth and Alex wondered just how   
much better his night vision could get. "No, we're just the   
lucky ones. You ever read this sci-fi story? I can't   
remember the name of it. Just some kids on this planet   
where the sun only comes out every seven years or   
something?"

"Yeah, they lock some poor kid in a closet, and forget   
about her until it starts raining again. I think I knew   
that kid. Bitter, bitter woman."

A grunt. "Before or after you had sex with her?"

"If I had a pillow, I'd throw it at you."

"And I'd thank you kindly and rest my weary head. I miss   
hair, dammit."

Alex snickered, settled back against a mossy tree stump.   
"You can have some of mine next time I visit the stylist."

"You know, not so long ago kids would pay for that 'I   
Accidentally Got Stuck In A Ceiling Fan' look."

"I'm just trying to get in on the retro trend, Walt. So,   
what you're saying is that the little girl never got to see   
the sun, and all she had was the... the memory of the other   
children laughing and playing and I should just shut the   
fuck up and be happy *I* had my time in the sun. It doesn't   
scan. The girl never knew what she missed, so she could   
never grieve for it. The *other* kids had to go back inside   
and think about something they might never have again."

"I guess... I guess you just have to decide that whatever   
happened was for the best. The little girl could console   
herself that she would never have to mourn, the others that   
they got that one beautiful taste."

"So it had a happy ending for everyone?"

"All endings are happy -- if you know how to look at them."

"Ah, Walter. Your Pollyanna side hasn't been explored   
nearly enough. Did you love Sharon?"

Rough sound, blur of pale. Walter was scrubbing his face   
with his hands. "I thought I did... but someone once told   
me that you never really fall out of love with someone. By   
the time we split for good she was... just another person."

"Does it bother you that you never loved her?"

"Yes. She deserved better."

"Everyone deserves to be loved? Everyone?"

"No, not everyone. Some people only deserve a bootheel to   
the face. Some people deserve worse. But if they find love   
anyway..."

"... you'll just have to polish those brass knuckles to a   
high shine."

"Precisely."

"Go to sleep, Walter."

Jaw-cracking yawn, shift within the sleeping bag. "Sir,   
yes, *sir*."

Alex smiled briefly, and set about cleaning his gun.

~~~~  
End.  
~~~~

**Author's Note:**

> Notes: Song quote taken without permission from "Malibu,"   
by Hole. Also, Rye has informed me that the story I was   
referencing was "All Summer in a Day," by Ray Bradbury. And   
that I got the plot slightly wrong. Whoops. Sorry.


End file.
